Silent Songs
by BasementKat
Summary: Deafened in a childhood illness, Charlotte de Chagny longs to hear the music she remembers from her past. When Raoul purchases the Opera Populaire she is content enough to watch the performances, but talks of the elusive 'Opera Ghost' entice her more than the silent songs onstage. It's not long before she realizes there is more to the stories and goes looking for answers.
1. The Opera Populaire

_Paris, 1870_

As the carriage bounced its way along the craggy, cobbled streets of Paris, Charlotte de Chagny leaned her forehead against the window pane that separated her from the bustling of the city, stomach twisting with a bundle of excitement and nerves. Her breath fogged the glass despite the warm weather, smudging the bright colors of dresses and storefronts. "There are so many people!" Charlotte exclaimed in a hushed voice, knowing her words would come out slightly slurred, but too reluctant to turn away from the window. Across from her, Raoul nodded. He did not share in her childish wonderment, but then again, her brother was accustomed to travel and city splendor. He had not spent his whole life shut up in their family's manor as she had.

Charlotte supposed she should feel some deal of embarrassment acting like a hyper puppy, but her spirits were too high. Besides, Raoul had a little smile stretched across his handsome features- he was pleased. The acquisition of the Opera Populaire was his birthday gift to her. A way to give her back the music of her childhood, perhaps. Never mind that Charlotte had given up the thought of that long ago; the sweet chords of piano, the high notes of a soprano voice, even the soft sounds of lullabies fell silent on deaf ears such as hers. "You'll like the ballet, anyhow." Raoul had told her. And she was looking forward to the ballet, but she loved the freedom from the manor even more. Paris seemed to her a fantastical new world full of previously forbidden delights and the opera house was a good a destination as any.

She managed to fully tear her gaze from the window, twisting in her seat to look at her brother. They had been traveling for many hours but he did not seem bored or tired. A book rested open on his knee, and one hand lazily turned the pages as they rode. Charlotte, too, was a voracious reader but her own novel had been tossed aside the minute they entered the city proper. Why read about Paris when she could see it with her own eyes? She waved to get Raoul's attention again and quickly signed, ' _how long until we arrive?'_

Raoul quirked another smile. ' _Soon. Are you hungry? We can stop for dinner.'_

"Yes!" Charlotte blurted out. Raoul might not be bothered by the journey but she was absolutely famished. They'd had breakfast at the manor, but that was hours ago and Charlotte had been so nervous that she had barely eaten a thing anyways. There was a basket full of fruits on the seat beside her brother, but they went sour with the heat. Raoul carefully folded his book, set it on top of the basket, and tapped on the wall behind him causing the carriage to shudder to a halt.

 _'There is a nice cafe only a few minutes walk from here. I'll tell the valet.'_ He gestured. Charlotte waved him on and he hopped out, exchanged a few words with the coachman, then came back to help her down. Charlotte's boots hit the cobblestone and she inhaled the muggy afternoon air, thinking it far sweeter than what they had been shut up with in the carriage. The streets were full of bustling shoppers, merchants, and beggar children reaching for the hems of ladies satin skirts. It should have been an assault on her senses, having grown up in the quiet country, but without sound the scene did not bother her much. It did smell different though, so many new scents mixing together that she could barely distinguish them. The acrid smoke from a gentleman's pipe, fresh bread from the next door bakery, and there, just the tiniest whiff of peachy perfume. A new sensation for sure, but not unwelcome.

Raoul led her away from the main street and further into the maze, strutting straight-backed and proud as if he owned the very ground he walked upon. Or, if not owned, at least was completely familiar with. Wherever Raoul was taking her, he had been there many times before. The street sloped upwards and the pair stopped at a small hovel, tucked in between two taller shops. The walls were painted a peeling white, flowers sat bunched in small window-beds, and an awning protruded from the roof, providing ample shade.

'T _his is the Boulevard Montmartre.'_ Raoul told her, _'It's but a ten minute ride from the opera house.'_ The cafe he chose was packed with people. It was clearly very popular despite its appearance. Charlotte managed to claim an empty table while her brother went up to the counter and ordered them some pastries and coffee. To her relief, no one seemed to notice her, or think her out of place. At home, everyone knew her. Here, no one did. Charlotte was dressed slightly below her position as the late viscount's daughter, but traveling in elaborate dress quickly became uncomfortable so she had opted for a simple blue gown that morning, the color complimenting nicely with her eyes. Raoul too, wore only a casual suit and brown overcoat. He procured the sweets with no problems and pushed his way through the crowd towards her.

"Welcome to Paris, little sister." Raoul grinned, placing a coffee down on the table in front of her. It was warm for the drink, but it was sweet and renewed her waning energy. The croissants, too, were light and airy, stuffed to bursting with chocolate filling. With both hands busy, the meal was shared silently but enjoyably. When she was done, Charlotte resisted the urge to lick the chocolate off her hands; an unladylike behavior, but one she indulged in alone at home.

The trip back to the carriage was short and thankfully downhill this time. The siblings climbed in and the driver took off, making quick work of the last leg of their journey. The opera house soon filled the window, strong stone pillars and perching angels betraying the identity of the alluring building. Charlotte had never seen photographs, but she'd heard Raoul's stories of the place, stories of grandeur and beauty. This place certainly had both. A large sign hung to the left of the doors advertising 'La Carlotta!' the prima donna- a lady trussed up in exotic skirts. This time the valet helped them both to the ground, collected their bags, and ushered them towards the doors. Raoul held his arm out for her and Charlotte grabbed it gratefully. There really _were_ a lot a people.

The second they stepped through the entrance two older men appeared. Both gave Raoul a small bow. "Vicomte, welcome." The one with curlier hair greeted. His lips were easy enough to read as long as Charlotte payed attention. "I am Monsieur Gilles Andre, and this is my associate, Monsieur Richard Firmin." Raoul shook both their hands and turned to introduce Charlotte. The men bowed even deeper to her and took turns kissing the back of her hand.

 _'Lovely to meet you, monsieurs'._ She signed. Despite her brother's gentle encouragements, she refused to speak in front of anybody but him, hating the thought of how her voice must sound to others.

Raoul translated and added, "My sister is deaf, but if you speak clearly she can read your lips." Charlotte flushed as she always did when someone discovered her disability, but the new managers were very kind, nodding their understanding. Monsieur Firmin offered her his arm and she took it, leaving Raoul to chat with the more talkative Andre.

They were led again through a hall that opened to a grand stage, populated already by dancers and singers in a state of rehearsal. Charlotte could not hear the music they twirled to, but she could feel the rhythm of the dance thump in her breast. Charlotte had danced when she was young, but had given it up several years ago, around the time of her father's death. She felt a pang of regret as she watched the ballet now. Raoul had been right. They were captivating.

Another man was waiting for the group and once he saw them enter, he called a halt to the rehearsal. He began to speak, but his head was turned at such an angle that Charlotte could not make out what it was he said. She nudged Raoul in the arm and, noticing her predicament, began to sign for her. The man was Monsieur Lefevre, the old owner of the Opera Populaire. He was retiring and handing the title over to Firmin and Andre, with the de Chagny's as their patrons. Raoul was introduced and with a polite nod to the crowd he added, "My sister and I are honored to support all the arts, especially the world-renowned Opera Populaire."

His declaration was met with applause. Charlotte watched as a tall, pale woman in a beautiful golden crown came up to her brother, offering him her hand. Bemused, he leaned to kiss it while Lefevre introduced her as Signora Carlotta Guidicelli, the very same woman advertised on the posters outside the opera. She was the leading soprano. Charlotte felt poorly that she would never hear her sing, but there was no helping it.

There were several more introductions after that, but Charlotte had a difficult time keeping up with the quick pace and she eventually gave up, choosing to look around instead. The interior of the opera was swatched in red; red chairs, red curtains, and red costumes. It had a lush, private feel despite the crowd. It was the type of place that could swallow a thousand people and still be comfortable, the type of place that drew you in further and further. Charlotte loved it at once.

The ballet girls were once again taking up position, showing off for the Populaire's new owners. Raoul finished shaking (and kissing) hands and trotted over to her side. _'Shall I show you our hotel?'_

Charlotte nodded, but her gaze remained fixed on the dancers.

 _'Don't worry, little sister, we will return to have supper with Firmin and Andre.'_ Raoul laughed. "Now, let's go unpack." They moved to exit the stage when all of a sudden the very ground seemed to shudder. Charlotte whipped her head around to stare at La Carlotta who was now lying on her belly, massive skirts trapped by a fallen set beam. She was thrashing about like a fish out of water, banging her palms on the ground, mouth open in a scream. The directors along with the actors and Raoul all rushed to help her, lifting the beam out of the way carefully.

Lefevre turned his head up and appeared to speak to someone on the rafters but whatever the explanation was for the accident let him even more agitated.

 _'The stagehand blames it on ghosts.'_ Raoul signed to her with a little shrug.

 _'Ghosts?'_

 _'Apparently the Opera House is haunted.'_ The statement was accompanied by a wink. Raoul raised his hands and wiggled his fingers. "Ooooo."

Charlotte shook her head, a smile blooming on her lips. Ghosts were not real, but the mystery they provided was exciting. A haunted opera house? Raoul's gift was getting better by the minute. He sidled up to her and tugged on her braid. _'Anyways, I do believe that's our cue. Come, let us get out of the way.'_

* * *

This is my first phanfic, I hope you are enjoying so far!

Disclaimer: I am not deaf so if there are any problems or inaccuracies with the way I write Charlotte please let me know!


	2. Christine Daae

The opera house was a changed venue when Charlotte and Raoul returned. The plush seats were completely filled up by upper-class ladies and gentleman who lifted their opera glasses and chatted softly amongst themselves. The heavy velvet curtain was drawn across the stage, and candles burned in a semicircle along the edge of the wood.

Box one was reserved for the de Chagny's and Charlotte took a seat carefully, trying not to crease her dress. For the performance, she had donned a more elaborate number, green this time with stitched in jewels. Her hair was released from its braid and fell slightly past her shoulders in gentle waves. Raoul, too, was striking in his suit jacket. The two of them could have passed for twins; they shared the same boyish figure, straight blonde hair, and glassy blue eyes. Raoul was only older by less than a year, but he shouldered the mantle of 'big brother' with the utmost responsibility. "Look, it's starting!"

The curtain was indeed parting, giving the audience a glimpse of the elaborate set it concealed. There was most likely music playing as well but Charlotte could not hear it, so she kept her eyes trained on the dancers, barely noticing that the woman who entered as prima donna was not La Carlotta at all. Raoul, however, stared at the singer with a strange expression on his face.

By the time the aria began, Charlotte found that she was genuinely enjoying herself. The crowd loved the performance, their shocked faces and silent bated breath proved it, so Charlotte knew the singer must be dazzling. The music did not reach her ears, but that didn't seem to matter much. It was strange to be part of something larger than herself, but here in the opera house, she felt at home among the thousands of others.

Halfway through the aria, Raoul shot up from his seat as if possessed and mouthed, "Can it be Christine?" Charlotte barely had time to wonder what he meant before he leaned out over the edge of the banister and shouted, "Bravo!" He did not stop to offer any explanation as he spun suddenly and ran out of the box, leaving Charlotte alone as the opera swelled to a close.

The singer received a standing ovation. Flowers were tossed on stage as she bowed and made a quick exit, white train trailing on the ground. Then all was tossed into chaos as the crowd swarmed from their seats, chasing after the new prima donna in a frenzy. Charlotte watched safely from her box and wished Raoul would come back. There was no way she would find him in this mess. Nor did she want to attempt it. Charlotte did not mind crowds from a distance, but pushing into the throng would make her nervous.

And what did he mean by Christine? Did he know the singer? Something about the name was vaguely familiar but Charlotte could not place it. Without the sound of the singer's voice to help spark whatever memory Raoul had uncovered, she was lost. Sighing, she rested her elbows on the banister and plopped her chin in her palms. If her brother did not come back she would have to go find monsieurs Andre and Firmin herself. They were scheduled for supper at some exquisite French restaurant. She spared a glance towards the proprietors' box but it was empty of course- they would have gone down to congratulate the prima donna as well.

Charlotte waited until most of the crowd was gone before choosing to make her way down, watching her step as to avoid the roses scattered about the floor. Following the stream of people, she passed through an elaborate hallway where a twinkle of white caught her eye. An older lady lead the beautiful singer of the aria into a smaller room while gentlemen reached for her skirts, thrusting out bouquets. The singer was shy and she ducked her head, waving off the attention with a blush on her pale cheeks. With relief, Charlotte spotted Raoul among the suitors as he elbowed his way to the front. He grabbed a bouquet from monsieurs Andre and Firmin and followed 'Christine' into the dressing room. He must know her, although she could not think of how.

Choosing to hang back instead of following, Charlotte turned around and began to walk back towards the grand staircase, giving her brother whatever time he needed to talk to the singer. By this time, most of the crowd had been ushered out the doors, leaving only the cast and crew to clean up. Charlotte stayed out of their way, exploring the rooms she came across as she wandered. The opera house seemed much larger on the inside and she discovered costume rooms, dormitories, and a small church that still had a single candle burning. Charlotte was not sure she believed in angels, but she bent her head and mumbled a little prayer for her deceased family members anyways, blowing out the candle when she was done.

After that, she made her way back to the prima donna room just in time to see Raoul exit. He met her eyes and ran up, rocking on his heels like an excited schoolboy. _'Guess what, Charlotte, it is Christine! Christine Daae! Surely you remember her?'_

 _'The girl with the violin?'_ Charlotte signed slowly, the name Daae bringing her back to fuzzy childhood memories and days by the sea.

 _'It was her father's violin, but yes. I can't believe she's here- I invited her to dinner.'_ He was grinning and Charlotte felt a spark of pleasure herself. Although Christine was just a hazy memory, the time Daae and her father had spent with the de Chagny's were the best years of Charlotte's life. Back then she could still hear the music.

 _'It is wonderful you found her again.'_ Charlotte told Raoul, _'But where is her father?'_

 _'Dead. They left when he became ill, remember?'_

Charlotte didn't, but she nodded anyway. _'How sad. I recall that his music was beautiful.'_

"Yes, it was." Said Raoul, wistfully, "Now we must go fetch the carriage." He took her arm and all but dragged her outside. It was much cooler at night, chilly even, and a sharp contrast to the heat of the day. Raoul flagged their carriage, helped her into it and swept back into the opera house to collect Christine.

Charlotte wondered if her brother forgot about their supper plans with Firmin and Andre, or if he still intended to bring them along as well. Probably not. Raoul seemed fixated with Christine, she doubted he'd want anyone to interrupt their conversation. She hoped he'd still translate for her, though.

Minutes went by and when Raoul returned, he was alone, no childhood friend turned prima donna in sight. _'Where is she?'_ Charlotte wondered.

 _'The door was locked. I suppose she wanted to be alone after all.'_ Raoul wore his emotions plain on his face and Charlotte could tell he was crestfallen.

 _'Well, she's had a very exhausting night, I'm sure she is quite tired. You can invite her out again tomorrow.'_ She attempted to placate her brother. If this Christine was anything like the little girl from their past, Charlotte doubted that she was trying to refuse Raoul on purpose. Besides, the de Chagny's owned the opera house now- it wasn't like Raoul would never see the singer again. In fact, now that her brother knew his childhood friend lived and worked at the Opera Populaire, Charlotte figured they would be visiting with a much higher frequency. _'Nevertheless, I was promised a delicious supper.'_

Raoul gave her a small smile, nodding his head thoughtfully. _'Yes, I suppose you're right, Lottie.'_ Casting one last wistful glance at the Opera Populaire, Raoul planted his foot on the small wooden step and hoisted himself into the carriage.

...

Dinner was, as promised, exquisite. Monsieur's Andre and Firmin met them there a few minutes after Charlotte and Raoul were seated, looking only a bit put out that they had been left behind. Raoul offered his thorough apologies, explaining the circumstances, and the three men started up a conversation about the night's performance leaving Charlotte to peruse the menu, content to tune them out. This restaurant was a few grades above the small cafe she and Raoul had stopped at earlier in the day and her stomach growled as she contemplated what to order. Eventually, she settled on a rabbit in wine sauce, pointed it out to her brother, and let him order when the server came around.

Drinks came first, a bubbly champagne that was accompanied by sweet rolls and butter. Charlotte's meals at home were cooked by a servant and did not usually include a wide variety of dishes, so the many courses that were served that night brought her much delight. She was soon full to bursting! Once she admitted defeat and pushed her plate away, Raoul snatched up the last few bites of her rabbit dish, shoving them into his mouth with a lack of grace that made Charlotte giggle softly.

The conversation shifted towards politics and current events- two topics that Charlotte cared very little about. Raoul was absentmindedly translating for her, his right hand cradling a fork full of flourless cake, his left a blur of simple shorthand that the siblings had created. She watched him lazily, head beginning to tilt forward as she realized that she was basically falling asleep where she sat. It had been a very long day after all, and by now it was surely past midnight. However, before her face came anywhere close to falling in her desert, Monsieur Firmin indicated that he was exhausted as well and that his wife would be waiting up for him at home.

The three men haggled over who would pay the waiter, but Raoul managed to slip his francs into the server's hand first. With a promise that Monsieur Andre would treat them tomorrow, the little group parted ways, belly's full and spirits high.

In the carriage, Charlotte leaned into her brother and managed to nod off despite the short length of the trip back to the hotel. Raoul nudged her awake when they arrived, gently guiding her upstairs and into her room. They'd rented the suite on the top floor, a sprawling apartment that was lavishly furnished with modern furniture and amenities. After changing into a nightgown, Charlotte collapsed on her bed, relishing the feel of the soft blankets beneath her. However, before she could truly get well and comfortable, Raoul brought in a small candle, lit it, and set it on her dresser.

"To keep the nightmares at bay." He told her.

 _'_ _I'm too old for nightmares, Raoul. I'm not a child.'_ Charlotte signed, rolling her eyes.

 _'_ _I suppose not,'_ He agreed. _'However, as it is your first night away from home, I thought it my duty to provide you with a small amount of comfort, to keep away the ghosts away.'_

It was a sweet gesture, a bit misplaced as Charlotte was decidedly not afraid of ghosts, but sweet nonetheless. _'If the dresser goes up in flames during the night, it will be_ your _fault.'_ She laughed at the sudden concerned expression that lit up Raoul's face. _'I'm only joking.'_

"Yes, of course." He fidgeted with the candle once more, making sure it was _truly_ safe, and satisfied, he turned to bid her goodnight. Before he could slip out the door Charlotte called after him in a soft voice, knowing he wouldn't be able to see her sign with his back turned.

"Raoul, do you really think the Opera house is haunted? That there really could be a ghost there?"

"Someone has been filling your head with stories, Lottie. The opera ghost is but a myth to frighten the dancers at night."

"But what if the ghost is real?" Charlotte insisted, the words seeming a bit ridiculous even to her. "The stories had to stem from somewhere after all!"

Raoul leaned against the doorframe and fixed her with a strange look. "I don't know… but with your curious nature, I'm sure you will be the one to discover the truth in the end. Sweet dreams, Charlotte."

"Goodnight, Raoul."


	3. Signed OG

When they arrived at the opera house the next day, the manager's were in a tizzy for Christine Daae had gone missing overnight. Raoul too was up in arms, having received a letter per the concierge at the hotel, detailing that he should refrain from contacting Christine ever again. Charlotte had snatched the paper from her brother's hand as soon as he read it, noting the scrawling red strokes of ink. The letter looked as if it had been written by a child and the penmanship left something to be desired, but Charlotte could make out most of the words.

 _'Who is 'the Angel of Music'?'_ She puzzled, running her finger over the title.

"Heaven knows!" Raoul seethed, "If this is Andre and Firmin's doing we are going to share some very strong words."

Charlotte frowned, folding the letter and handing it back to Raoul. _'I doubt it was them, Raoul. Why would they want to keep you from Christine?'_

 _'I haven't any idea.'_ He admitted, putting in the request for their carriage. _'But this is one mystery I am not content to leave unsolved!'_

 _'We will figure it out.'_ Charlotte promised, squeezing her brother's hand. _'Everything will be fine.'_

But it turned out, Charlotte had told Raoul a blatant lie, for as soon as they marched into the opera house, the managers admitted both that they hadn't sent the note (they had actually received some themselves!) and that Christine Daae had vanished from her dressing room without a trace.

"If she's not with you, than who took her!?" In his anger and desperation, Raoul crumpled the note in a clenched fist and flung it aside, violently. Charlotte scampered after it, figuring that if a trip to the authorities was warranted, they should keep all evidence of the misdeed. The little letter found a safe home tucked into her dress, and she turned her attentions to the notes both managers held, wondering what they said. From the bloody red ink staining the edges of the parchment, Charlotte figured all three were sent from the same mysterious source. 'O.G.' She recalled the signature at the very bottom of Raoul's letter. What could it stand for?

Before she or Raoul could inquire further, the doors slammed open and in stormed La Carlotta Guidicelli and her retainer, face twisted in an uncomfortable looking scowl. She spoke much too fast for Charlotte to make anything out, but the way she dramatically waved around a piece of parchment got the message across. La Carlotta had received a letter as well. About what, Charlotte could only speculate. Perhaps it was an admonishment about refusing to sing in Hannibal, or it could be something entirely different. It mattered little to her. The mystery behind it all was much more exciting; strange letters, a missing girl, an Angel of Music? The events seemed to have been pulled right out of a novel! Charlotte was sorry it was Christine Daae who was missing, for her loss had thoroughly rattled the vicomte, but that made her all the more determined to figure it all out and find the beautiful singer.

Before anyone could do anything else about the situation, the same woman who had escorted Christine last night, Madame Giry, if Charlotte remembered the name correctly, walked up and announced, "Miss Daae has returned."

"No worse for wear, I hope!" Monsieur Firmin exclaimed, clutching his note to his chest.

"Where is she now?" Andre added.

"I thought it best she was alone." Said Madame Giry, a peculiar expression on her face. Behind her stood a little ballet dancer with pleated blonde hair. She looked up at Madame Giry before adding a bit sheepishly, "Christine needs her rest."

Raoul, who could no longer contain his tongue, pleaded, "Well, where was she? Did someone take her?"

"No, no, Monsieur," Madame Giry said, shaking her head. "Christine is fine."

"You're wrong, maman, it was the Opera Ghost! He took Christine!"

"Hush child!" Madame Giry scolded, turning to give her daughter a sharp glance. "There are no such thing as ghosts and it will do no good to go around spreading rumors." Cheeks flushing pink, the girl gave a clumsy curtsy and padded away. Opera Ghost... O.G.! Charlotte watched the dancer until she disappeared behind a corner. Had the girl seen this opera ghost? Charlotte looked up at her brother who was still arguing with Firmin and Andre about Christine. He wouldn't miss her if she was only gone for a few minutes. Charlotte hopped down the rest of the marble stairs and hurried after the girl, trying not to attract too much attention from the various opera house workers.

She eventually found the dancer sitting on the lip of the stage, feet dangling over the edge. Her chin was propped up on her palm as she stared languidly into the distance. All around her was a bustle of activity, but she didn't seem to notice or care. Charlotte wound her way through the seats and approached slowly with a wave. The girl lifted her head and gave a little smile. Charlotte took that as an invitation and wanted to take a seat next to the dancer but... She meant to talk with the girl, but she didn't have Raoul to act as a translator, and Charlotte doubted that the girl would know sign language. How were they meant to have a conversation? Her heart thumped awkwardly in her chest, and Charlotte knew the longer she stood there staring, the stranger the girl would think of her. She recalled Raoul's words to her as she hesitated on the porch of their country manor. _Be Brave_.

Charlotte took a step forward. Though she longed for friends, she told herself it didn't matter what the girl thought of her. Charlotte was used to people calling her mute or retarded. She tried to brush off the insults but they still stung. If only she could work up the courage to yell back at them the way she did with her brother. She shook her head; it wouldn't be like that this time. She'd go up to the girl and- and ask her about the opera ghost. With words. She could do it.

But even though she took a seat next to the dancer, Charlotte couldn't seem to make her mouth open. She sat there silently, trying to avoid the girl's furrowed brow. Eventually the dancer introduced herself, "I'm Meg Giry. I saw you yesterday with the Vicomte. You're Charlotte, right?"

Charlotte nodded, grateful that she didn't have to start the conversation. Even though she knew Meg wouldn't understand she still signed, _'It's nice to meet you.'_

"Oh!" Meg clapped her hands to her mouth before quickly dropping them. "You're deaf! I'm so sorry, I forgot." At her words, many heads swiveled in the direction of the two girls. Charlotte cringed. Meg must have shouted. People always did that, as if Charlotte could hear them if they only talked loudly enough. They didn't seem to realize that Charlotte would never hear anything ever again. Instead of responding to Meg, Charlotte drew the letter from her pocket and unfolded it. She pointed to the signature at the bottom of the note and raised her eyebrows. She couldn't speak to Meg, but maybe she could still make her understand what she wanted to know.

"The Opera Ghost?" Meg asked. Charlotte nodded and gave Meg a pointed look. "Do you want me to tell you about him?" Meg said carefully. Charlotte nodded again and smiled. Meg's light brown eyes lit up. "Alright, then come with me!" She reached out and grabbed Charlotte's hand, twining their fingers together. Shocked, Charlotte almost pulled away. She wasn't used to strangers willingly touching her, most just barely tolerated her presence. Still, as small as Meg was, she had a grip like a vice and Charlotte was effectively tugged along behind her.

She was led behind the stage and through a side door, down a long hallway full of extravagant costumes and what looked to be a full-sized elephant. As she passed, Charlotte reached out her free hand to brush along the hems of the dresses, smiling at the feel of silk and lace and little bells. When Charlotte was very little she had dreamed of staring in her own opera. Being here now was bittersweet.

Meg ducked through another open door that led to a dormitory of sorts with rows of little wooden beds draped with cast-off ballet dresses and heaps of ribbons. A flock of girls sat near the back chatting and giggling. They looked up as Charlotte and Meg entered. Meg waved and pointed at Charlotte, and if anyone had a problem with her presence, Charlotte couldn't hear it.

Meg took a seat on a bed to the left. It was a bit separate from the others, and Charlotte wondered if that was due to her being Madame Giry's daughter, or if little Meg just didn't fit in with the rest of the ballet girls. They had already gone back to their conversation and didn't spare the blonde duo another glance. "They think I'm a gossip." Meg shrugged, following Charlotte's gaze, but her smile was strained. "They won't care to listen. It's just another one of Silly Meg's stories after all."

Charlotte shook her head. She didn't want Meg to think she was like that. If Meg had information about the Opera Ghost, then Charlotte wanted to hear it, even if it was just a story. All stories had a kernel of truth to them, after all. Charlotte knew that better than most, having grown up with mostly books for friends. Even if the Opera Ghost turned out to be complete nonsense, there was still someone sending strange letters to the managers and even Raoul. _'Tell me.'_

Meg may have not understood her signing, but she launched into her story regardless. Her words spilled out like water from a faucet and Charlotte focused on pulling vowels from her lips. "The opera ghost is real, I know he is. The other's don't believe me except for Jammes who said she saw him, a man with a head like death! He's the most ugly thing you can ever imagine. He stalks around the opera house kidnapping girls and causing the most terrible misfortunes! Whenever you're alone in the hallways and feel a little chill on the back of your neck, that's him come to watch you." Meg shivered. "Although sometimes when he's pleased with the performances he'll drop roses."

Roses? That didn't seem like the work of a ghost. Charlotte frowned and started nibbling on her thumbnail. Meg's information was all well and good, but it didn't tell Charlotte where she could look for the ghost. The opera house was huge with many stories.

"He took Christine." Meg continued. "The poor girl came back white as a sheet. She kept saying it was the angel of music, but I know better." _The angel of music_? Charlotte froze and grabbed the letter again. Yes, it said in the first line, 'Do not fear for ms. Daae, the angel of music has her under his wing'. So Meg was correct; the Opera Ghost and the angel of music were one in the same. She looked at Meg, as if silently willing the girl to tell her more. When the girl frowned Charlotte attempted a trick she'd done with Raoul before she'd learned to read lips. Using her finger she traced letters in the air. _"WHERE?"_

"Oh! Well everyone says he lives under the opera house, but maman is to always keep box five empty during performances." Box five. That, at least, was a place to start. Charlotte gave Meg a grin and folded up her letter.

 _'Thank you.'_ She mouthed, signing along. Meg copied her although her motions were clumsy and unpracticed. Next time Charlotte would bring a pad of paper so that she could write out her questions to Meg although she was pleased at the amount of information she had gotten. Charlotte may not be able to sing or to dance, but she could find the Opera Ghost and solve the mystery of the Opera Populaire. Then everybody might finally stop looking at her with only pity.

And somewhere far below Charlotte and Meg sat a twisted creature who plucked out a gentle, longing tune on his violin hoping for the day when the woman he loved could look upon his face and tell him she loved him back.

A/N: I apologize for the long hiatus but I had to get major surgery and could not write for awhile. However, never fear, the show will go on! Please keep letting me know what you think! I'm very appreciative of all your comments :)


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